


Hacked

by VFDOCTOR



Category: Doctor Who
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-31
Updated: 2015-07-31
Packaged: 2018-04-12 07:34:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 8
Words: 12,752
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4470725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VFDOCTOR/pseuds/VFDOCTOR
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Second Doctor meets Clara in London just before the Jamestown Voyage.<br/>Introduction</p><p>This story takes place between the Wheel in Space episode where the Second Doctor fights against the Cybermen on a marooned Earth space station in the 21st Century, and The Invasion where he defeats them with the military support of the newly formed United Nations Intelligence Taskforce (U.N.I.T.). The Doctor has encountered the Cybermen several times by now and is gaining both experience in defeating them and a respect for their ability to evolve.</p><p>More specifically this story takes place immediately after The Mind Robber where the Doctor, Jamie, and Zoe are forced to emergency land in a white void and are confronted with objects of their own imagination controlled by an old man who introduced himself as The Master (No, not that Master. Another one).</p><p>In the story you are about to read, the Doctor has just left his companions to enjoy an overdue island vacation, needing some time to work out a few bugs from the T.A.R.D.I.S. and allowing Jamie and Zoe time to recoup from their recent mentally tasking ordeal.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Attention to Detail

**Author's Note:**

> Prologue
> 
> The engines warbled and wheezed, but began to gain a rhythm as the engines realigned themselves.
> 
> "There, you go. There you go! That's better." The Doctor tossed the lever forward with a nod of approval. "Let's blow out a few cobw-"
> 
> The T.A.R.D.I.S. shook violently and sent the Doctor flying through the air. He landed on the floor against the wall outside the common room.
> 
> "Nooo!" he yelled. Grabbing the doorframe, he pulled himself to a standing position. Pushing off the wall, he threw himself towards the control console.
> 
> Unlike his previous incarnation who was always gentlemanly ironed and groomed, this Doctor wore a badly tailored suit, wrinkled and crooked tieless collar, oversized baggy plaid pants, and mussed hair that determinedly refused to represent a hairstyle. He looked more like a 'cosmic hobo' performing a comedic routine than a captain trying to capture the control of his runaway spaceship.
> 
> "Oh, my giddy aunt!"
> 
> The T.A.R.D.I.S. landed harshly and the Doctor had to hold tight to keep from flying to the other side of the room.
> 
> "Ok. We're here." With a sigh of relief, he checked his console. "England, and it's cold. Dress warmly, Zoe. Jamie?" He left the room, returning with his oversized fur coat in one hand and his fife in the other. "Jamie? Zoe?"
> 
> He stood and looked about the control room for a few seconds before remembering where he had left his companions. "Ah! Aruba." He walked towards the open T.A.R.D.I.S. door. "Got to remember to collect them."

"What's that?" The bright-eyed brunette dusted her pettifor and glanced over her shoulder at the Doctor.

Looking at his hand he replied, "It's a fife."

He hastily returned his prized possession to the inside of his oversized coat, nesting it gently between the carcanecular and the protimic carburetor. The curious young woman raised an eyebrow as she observed.

"Not that, sir, that." She raised her finger to indicate the big blue police box standing on the 1606 docks of England.

"It's a storage container of course," he answered, waiving the T.A.R.D.I.S. away like a normal decoration of the busy shoreline, "nothing more."

"Oh, it's a storage container, of course."

The Doctor locked the door and stepped off to explore.

"A bright blue storage container with a window and a door?" the girl pressed.

He shrugged and continued on his way. She gathered her skirts and followed, stepping carefully over ropes and debris scattered about.

"A bright blue storage container with a window and a door, and that appears out of nowhere? And what is a 'Pol-ice'?" she continued. The Doctor, continuing his stride, circled the young woman and doubled back to the T.A.R.D.I.S. mumbling something about expired dampening fluids. "… And what creature offered its pelt for that odd looking cloak?"

"Burlington," he replied fumbling for his key.

"Burlington?"

"Yes, a Burlington. Big creature, lives overseas." Turning the lock he tossed open the door and strode inside, and swatted the door shut behind him.

The young woman caught it before it closed and peered inside. "Have you reflectors in there?"

The Doctor slapped the console twice and checked his monitors. "Dampening fields are operational. Perspective filters are clear-"

"Interesting." The woman's dark eyes widened as she inspected the interior of the T.A.R.D.I.S. "It's smaller on the outside."

"Hmm, yes..." he replied while opening a panel under the console. " I've heard that one before…wait." The panel slammed shut with a loud "clack" that echoed through the spaceship's many chambers. "What did you say?"

The woman stepped one foot though the doorway.

"No!" the Doctor strode out the door, locking arms with his uninvited guest and pulling her along as he exited.

"How rude!" she exclaimed. "Unhand me, sir!"

The Doctor stopped and withdrew his arm to secure the T.A.R.D.I.S. again with his key. "I do apologize, my dear. But, it's for protection, you know?"

"Then the strange box is dangerous. I hope you informed the yard manager."

"No," he replied, looking at other passersby who took no notice of the T.A.R.D.I.S. whatsoever. "The box is harmless. It's full of … lab equipment."

"Lab?"

"Laboratory." For the first time, he took proper notice of her. "It's a portable laboratory to be more precise. Its contents are very valuable and I was protecting it from you."

"Oh! That explains so much."

"Good, good… explains what?"

"Your lack of personable skills. You are a professor or something akin to it I would wager." She smiled. "In my experience, highly educated persons seem to sacrifice their personable skills for a higher standard of knowledge."

The Doctor shook his head with a slight laugh. "Well, I beg to differ. I am very personable. You could not imagine the persons I have interacted with."

She grinned at him. "Oh I didn't say you didn't interact with people. I inferred that you were not skilled at it."

"And you are?"

"I am what, skilled at being personable? Yes, I am."

"That is a shame." He glanced at the T.A.R.D.I.S. and back at her. "Then by your own hypothesis, you are personable and therefore, not very intelligent."

"Not remarkably so."

The Doctor studied her carefully from head to toe. "I disagree, my dear. You not only appear to be intelligent, but also considering your ability to perceive my, uh, portable laboratory, I would say that you are very, very remarkable. What was your name again?"

"Clara. My father owns the Warg Bidden Cargo Company."

"The Angry Wolf cargo company? What a peculiar name."

"Yes, he named it after some adventure he had as a younger man, before he met my mother."

"Yes, yes, of course. Interesting." the Doctor studied the docks intently as if trying to remember something. "Clara, I would like to apologize for my lack of employment of personable skills. As atonement, I wish to offer my services as your escort around this shipyard."

She laughed. "I'm sorry, but how can you possibly be my escort if you do not know where it is I am going?"

"My dear! I do not even know where I am going. But, I believe a well-planned coincidence in an unfathomable infinite timeline of quantum-finable possibilities which allows for the opportunity to escort a clever, and might I add very beautiful, young lady around a shipyard is neither coincidental at all, nor an opportunity to be ignored."

He held his hand out to her as if he had just asked a debutant to dance.

"My gracious! Those are a lot of words arranged in an unorganized and hectic manner which I believe was orchestrated not only to flatter your momentary host, but to work out a strategy by oral inspection of flowing thought which happened to lead nowhere."

The two paused starring at each other; the Doctor's arm was still outstretched

"I like you," he finally responded.

"How cheeky," she replied, but she took his offered hand with another brilliant smile. "But I believe you mean that platonically. I am delivering these papers to my father's business. They are required for supplies to be shipped on the Godspeed. However, perhaps I should not have said that. Tell me my good sir, how may I have the pleasure of addressing my escort?"

"Oh, yes. I'm called the Doctor."

"Which one?"

"Which eh-huh? Uh- the Godspeed! Bound for the Americas I gather?"

"Yes, the New Land." They began to merge themselves into the busy foot traffic moving in the general direction of London Bridge. the Doctor recognized their location as Blackwall. The famous London Port would run from here to London Bridge one day. Around them warehouse workers and shipmen rushed to and from the multitude of wharves and warehouses lining the shore.

"King James has granted The Virginia Company of London a charter. The men traveling to the New World want nothing more than to establish a colony, but of course, their stockholders of the Virginia Company want to see a profit. In my father's line of work, he has quite an interest in the endeavor, as you can imagine."

"Ah yes, Jamestowne."

"Come again?"

"Nothing, no matter. That's a lot of information for a young woman is it not?"

"I listen a lot. My father talks a lot. It makes for a good relationship."

I would gather to say that you and your father are not one of the esteemed one hundred forty four traveling to the New World."

"One hundred forty five." She looked at him curiously. "But no. My father has responsibilities and no women are traveling to the New World."

"I have a feeling you would jump at the chance, Clara. What do you mean 'one hundred forty five'?"

"The sea and new settlements, exploring new worlds, a life of excitement and intrigue and facing the unknown… these are the dreams of men, not women. There are one hundred forty five travelers to the New World, not one hundred forty four." She watched as he furrowed his brow in thought. "That was too close a guess to be coincidence though. Are you an investor, Doctor?"

The Doctor withdrew his escorting arm and halted, drawing back his coat and placing his hands on his hips. "One hundred forty five, then. Close enough. What is your surname, Miss Clara?"

"Oswone," she stated hesitantly.

"Well Miss Clara Oswone, I want you to listen to me very carefully."

The Doctor looked over both shoulders to ensure the passing crowd was not eavesdropping before he approached and drew her close to his side. She could feel his breath on her hair as he breathed his secret quietly into her ear. "Men do not have dreams, men only have ambition. And that ambition is driven solely on the dreams of women."

Clara turned and eyed the strange little man with skepticism. He only smiled and again offered his arm in emblem of escort. "Miss Oswone."

After a quick moment of reflection and a glance at her surroundings, she determinedly took his outstretched arm. "Doctor."

Together they strolled along bustling Thames, approaching the warehouse ahead which indicated its purpose with a large angular hanging sign reading, "Warg Bidden Cargo Company - Thomas and Fester Oswone – proprietors."


	2. Warg Bidden

The freefall glaucous sludge missed the toe of his black shoes by mere inches.

"Damn!" he exclaimed inspecting his shoes and trousers for splatter. "What's this, I ask you? Damn 'gulls, I tell you."

"Language, Uncle."

Fester jumped at the sound of her voice and upon turning saw Clara strolling with a short, dark-haired, older gentleman. He noticed the man wore a white shirt worn loosely around his neck under a gaudy long-haired fur coat without tails. He also wore a jovial expression, but upon closer inspection, his piercing blue eyes darted about alertly recording his surroundings in an almost paranoid manner.

"Ifn' you don' like the language o' the sea, stay away from it, Niece," he boomed at Clara. "Damn the 'gulls and damn their airborne assaults, I tell you. But let's step inside to avoid more, shall we?"

"Very well, Uncle," Clara said, stepping up to the door.

Her uncle opened it for her and allowed the Doctor to follow before entering himself. They found themselves on an elevated wooden platform containing a wall desk and large bookshelf filed with maps, charters, ledgers, and other leather bound books. In the center of the floor sat a table which was obviously used for real work as evidenced by the stacks of papers strategically placed about it. Behind the table was a large hanging chalkboard depicting columns with annotated letters and numbers. Down the two steps to the left was a corral of crates. Rows of wooden crates stacked on top of each other spanned the entire length of the building from double loading doors in the front to the wagon doors in the rear.

"Uncle, this is the Doctor." Clara made the obligatory introduction with a polite wave of her gloved hand. "Doctor, this is my Uncle Fester."

The Doctor extended his hand. "A pleasure to make your acquaintance, I'm sure, Uncle Fes- "He turned to Clara."You have an Uncle Fester?"

"Ah-hem. Good Morning Doctor. Doctor...?" Fester employed a more formal dialect as he politely fished for a given or surname.

"Good morning," the Doctor replied in his general direction. "You have an Uncle Fester," he repeated to Clara.

"Yes," she answered feeling slightly embarrassed now by the Doctor's awkward display of manners. "My Uncle, named Fester," she continued. "You're shaking his hand."

The Doctor focused on his hand still locked in a handshake as if it were a foreign specimen before averting his gaze to the owner of the other hand. "Indeed a pleasure," he said, and after a few more unnecessary pumps of the handshake he finally released his hold.

"Yes, um-uh-harrumph, pleasure." Fester wiped his hand ever so subtly against his jacket. "What brings you to the Thames, Doctor, and in the company of m' favorite niece?"

"Oh you flatterer, Uncle," Clara interjected.

"…Fester" muttered the Doctor.

"As your only niece," she continued, "your compliment of choosing me as your favorite holds little merit."

"Makes no difference." Fester smiled fondly at her. "You would 'ave to be my favorite niece even ifn' you weren't my ornery bother's daughter."

"A genetic feat indeed." the Doctor continued to mumble while studying the chalkboard.

With practiced formality, Fester pressed on. "Which brings me again to inquire, what business it is that brings you to escort my niece on such a busy day, Doctor?"

"Devine circumstance!" the Doctor sprang to life bringing his full attention to his hosts. "You are, I believe as indicated by the sign outside and the contents inside, in the business of storing, shipping, and delivering cargo?"

"Well, yes, Doctor, but… Oh… Oh please don't tell me you are wanting to send things to the New World. Some sort of medical trade or whatnot?"

The Doctor replied with a noncommittal shrug.

"Yes, of course, but I'm certain the three surgeons already on the charter are going to be disappointed. Wotton himself, eh, he's one of the gentlemen surgeons… said himself that there's no medical breakthroughs to be expected from associating with New World savages."

The Doctor sucked in his breath. "Yes, the savages. Funny thing, those backwards, unruly, barbarians. I wonder how they have survived without our medical advancements, eh?"

"Yes, true," Fester replied oblivious to the Doctors sarcasm. "Uh, but I'm sorry. I have to see to the lord Chieftain's shipment right now. I'll be happy to discuss your matter when I return though. You understand."

"Oh, Uncle!" Clara gasped.

"Fester," the Doctor muttered.

Clara withdrew several scrolls from her bag after shooting an annoyed look at the Doctor. "Father wanted me to provide you with these export papers for lord Chieftain's supplies."

"Oi! About time!" His cockney syntax returned effortlessly as he grabbed the scrolls and set them hurriedly on the table. "…waitin' till th' last minute for these 'ere export papers," he fumed. "I had to refuse to load th' last cargo waitin' for these."

"But Uncle," Clara held a finger to the Doctors mouth before he could mumble again. "Why should we be worried about export papers for supplies going to the New World? There's no one there to import them."

"Details, m'dear. Business details and proper form and whatnot. Much too complicated fer' you ta worry yer' pretty brain."

"Accountability and taxes most likely," suggested the Doctor.

Bent over the documents, Fester looked up momentarily to acknowledge. "Quite." He then scanned each document with his finger, ensuring that each was filled out to his satisfaction. Plucking a ledger from the nearby bookshelf shelf, he began comparing each scroll to items noted in the ledger.

"Res-pee-ration … masks," he said, more to himself than to his guests. "'Ow' many of these are really necessary? I ask you. Chest braces … I think lord Chieftain's a bit paranoid, I tell you." He looked up from his work to the dark warehouse and then back to the Doctor and Clara. "There's almost enough 'ere to treat every traveler. Does that seem reasonable? I mean, I understand the cautionary tales after Roanoke, but this…"

"Almost enough?" inquired the Doctor. "How many is almost enough?"

To respond to the Doctor's direct question, Fester stepped back into using his proper practiced grammar. "Excluding the crew, there are 145 travelers. Lord Chieftain is shipping 144 masks."

"So who doesn't get to breathe?"

The expeditor stared at him. "I really don't know what you mean? This 'ere medical equipment is foreign to me, but I've just never seen so much owned by one man. I mean why so many duplicates, Doctor? Can't these items be used over again? How are we to dispose of 'em – er – them? Is that why you're here? You work for lord Chieftain, yes?"

The Doctor inhaled quickly and straitened the lapels of his fur coat, replying with a grunt.

"Of course!" Fester, accepting the Doctor's signs as affirmation, lost all attempts at formality as he began to pelt him with questions. "That's what you're 'ere for innit? So I'm just asking 'why so much?' is all. Not that I don't care for the health of our explorers, but that much stuff takes up a lot of room on a ship. Room is precious, innit? Right. And it's expensive, innit? I mean, your master said 'Cost is no issue.', but limits is limits, innit?"

"Well not in my experience."

"Wha…"

"Cost is not an issue, and if that's what Chieftain said, I'm sure there is a purpose. However, I am concerned about his equipment. Let's ensure we are not spending good money to ship broken goods, eh?"

Fester slowly placed his quill to its inkwell and changed his tone to a more formal one again. "We didn't receive handling instructions for the cargo, even though we asked. Without instructions, we took the utmost care to secure the cargo safely. Now are you are informing me that we need to open every last crate? Many of them are already onboard."

"No, no," replied the Doctor. "I'm sure a sampling would be fine. We'll just inspect a select few to ensure they were not packaged incorrectly before you received them, yes."

Fester smiled with relief. "Certainly. We still have some in the warehouse. The ones waiting on these export papers. Will those do?"

"Exquisitely," the Doctor beamed charmingly. "How fortunate. If the last of the cargo is found to be intact, I can reasonably assume the preceding shipments were packaged with the same care."

"Good, good." Fester turned to examine his chalkboard. "Clara, I need to take these papers for your father's signature. Can you escort the Doctor? Row six."

"Certainly, Uncle." She retrieved a lantern from a post near the steps and began to descend.

"…Fester," muttered the Doctor.

Lighting the lantern, Clara shot the Doctor another annoyed yet quizzical glance. "Watch your step, please, Doctor."


	3. Teamwork Policy

"Respirator masks." the Doctor pried at the crate with all his might, but the nails appeared to be able to support all of his strength and weight. "What do you suppose the 1606 model of a respirator mask looks like? No plastics involved, I'd wager."

"I've really no idea what a 'plastics' is? Do you need help, Doctor?"

The Doctor had climbed onto a taller crate in neighboring row seven and was attempting to press down on the crowbar jutting from the crate in row six with his foot. This resulted in a loud clattering of the crowbar bouncing along the floor as the Doctor suffered a momentary lapse in balance.

"Butterfingers! I'll get it," called the Doctor, now dangling from the crate on which he had just a moment ago been standing. His feet kicked about searching for a toehold centimeters from the ground.

Clara rolled her eyes and chuckled. "I'll get it."

Grabbing the crowbar and a nearby pickax, she inserted the bar between the planks of the crate and expertly bound the bar to the pickax handle by slapping a strip of leather against it as if the strap were a bullwhip. At her pulling on the head of the pickax, the board gave with a loud "crack" that echoed through the dimly lit warehouse.

"Oh excellent!" exclaimed the Doctor while dropping the final inch to the ground. "I knew I loosened it."

"You loosened it?" Clara removed the loosened board from the crate.

"Team work, Clara." He reached through the hole in the crate to acquire a mask. "Teamwork is always the best… GET BACK!"

Dropping the mask, he wrenched the board from Clara.

"OI, Splinters!" she yelled. Inspecting her hand she began picking at the wooden fragments. "What are you doing? Are you mad?"

"Quite often." the Doctor hammered away fanatically at the crate with the crowbar, attempting to drive the crooked nails back into their original placement.

Clara reached down angrily to pick up the discarded mask. "Wait, you have to return this one!"

"DON'T touch that! And for heaven sake don't bleed on it." the Doctor pulled off his shoe and offered it to her. "Help me."

But Clara had endured quite enough. Picking up the mask, she waved it threateningly at the Doctor. "What are you doing?" she demanded.

The Doctor stopped hammering and stared at the mask in her hand. The silver sheen, dark lifeless eyeholes, and square expressionless mouth marked the undeniable truth of the respirator masks' Cybermen origins. "It's not a medical device, Clara. It's a mask of death."

He returned to sealing the crate while Clara stared at the mask.

'Surely this man is touched,' she thought to herself. She turned it over and inspected the inside of the mask. For a fleeting moment she wondered about trying it on as she looked through the eyeholes at the Doctor beating away at the crate.

"I wouldn't if I were you," he warned without turning around. "I told you it's a mask of death. Put it down."

"Superstitious nonsense," Clara retorted. Nevertheless, she decided to set the mask down and pick up the Doctor's shoe in assistance.

"Mask of death, mask of death," Clara mimicked, running to keep up with the Doctor. "So you can handle the mask of death, but I can't?"

The Doctor was racing from crate to crate trying to determine their contents. "Masks, Chest plates, Splints. Where are you, ya little buggers. Show yourselves!"

"What are you looking for?" she asked inspecting the next crate. "This one contains something called ankle splints, by the way."

"Info-stamps," he replied, "and they're not here."

Clara rose thoughtfully. "The rest of the shipments have been loaded already. We can check the cargo manifest report though."

"Excellent!" he exclaimed, leading the way to the office. "Where's the manifest report?"

"I don't know."

"Where would you keep it?" he pressed.

"I wouldn't keep it. I'm just a wo…"

"Shut up." the Doctor glared at her. "There are lives at stake. I don't want to hear about how you are just a woman. I don't want to hear about how you're too pretty to know such things. And I really don't want to hear that you don't pay attention to business matters.

"You're a curious little thing, always asking questions whether you'll get an answer or not. I'll wager you ask more questions silently that you do aloud. I'll wager you also get more answers through observation than you do by asking aloud. You know more about more things than most. It's obvious to anyone who has subscribed to a higher state of learning and lacks personable skills. So forgive me my lack of proper manners, protocol, and etiquette but I need you to answer me this question. If you owned this warehouse and you kept the books and you were in charge of everything, where would you keep the cargo manifest report?"

"In the bookshelf, left hand side, second shelf from the top." Clara hardly believed how fast the answer had come. They had just reached the steps at this revelation and she led the way to the bookshelf.

"Good answer, Clara," said the Doctor, following her onto the office platform. "Check the middle drawer of the desk."

"What? Why?"

The Doctor opened the middle drawer of the desk and removed the cargo manifest report with a grin.

"I asked where you would keep it if you were in charge. You are not in charge. Your father is." He unrolled the scroll on the table. "Makes sense that you would do the complete opposite."

Clara's face fell. The excitement that had just built up inside of her just as suddenly exploded from her chest as a frightened bird would burst from a bush when the dog sniffs too closely. "Of course, the opposite."

"Well yes, it's natural for you to mentally make corrections to your father's operations." He glanced up from the report to the spot on the bookshelf Clara had described before. "Left handed, left side. Second shelf, not too high but not out for everyone to manhandle." He returned to the report as he continued. "Easy to acquire in a moment's notice. Very smart."

Clara blushed and beamed. "Well I'll have to suggest it to Father.

"And Uncle—"

"Fester," she interjected. "What is it that makes you go on about his name?"

The Doctor snapped his fingers twice.

"I'm sorry, wha…?"

"Scrolls!" he declared. "Onboard the Godspeed." the Doctor raced from the office and disappeared from view before the door even finished opening.

Clara stepped to the table and began to roll the report when the door opened again.

"I say, are you coming?" The door closed once more before she could reply. Beaming again and gathering up her skirts, she raced from the office after the Doctor.


	4. Information Please

The whooshing sound of the T.A.R.D.I.S. blended with the splashing waves gently rocking the full-rigged Godspeed tied to the Blackwall port. It materialized in the cargo hold of the 40-ton wooden vessel and the Doctor emerged, looking about the dark hull while piping a quiet jaunty tune on his fife. A wide-eyed Clara Oswone followed, looking about with amazed wonder and excitement.

"It moved," she whispered. "The laboratory moved!"

"Oh, my giddy aunt! Well, of course it moved," he replied pertly. "I told you it was mobile. Now shush, I'm thinking."

He quietly continued to play his tune while moving from crate to crate, pausing only to sing the last measure, "The Adams Family." He snapped his fingers twice and pointed out a crate with his fife. The crate was marked, "Scrolls."

Clara grabbed a long pry bar from the rafter. "How are we going to open it quietly," she whispered, "without attracting the watch-stander?"

"We're not," he answered loudly. Clara jumped at the sudden change in volume. "Dampening fields, projected by the T.A.R.D.I.S. will drown us the noise. The watchman will simply experience the feeling of moisture in his ear."

She stared at him incredulously, but another glance at the T.A.R.D.I.S. sitting in the middle of the cargo hold convinced her to believe him for the moment. She pressed the pry bar under the lid of the crate and together they pulled down until it popped free with the familiar 'CRACK.'

Clara held her breath and waited for the sound of hurried, scuffling boots from above rushing to endorse their eminent arrest and the Doctor himself momentarily stayed quiet and frozen with an open mouthed smile of self-awe at his abilities.

"Ah-ha!" he cheered and reached into the crate to retrieve one of the many info stamps residing inside. "Now to work!"

No sooner had he turned to the T.A.R.D.I.S. than footsteps overhead began moving towards the hatch.

"Doctor, he's making his rounds!"

"We'll be fine." He practically skipped with carelessness into the T.A.R.D.I.S. "Get inside."

Exasperated and panicked, she stowed the pry bar and straitened the askew lid on the crate before racing to follow the Doctor. She saw the watch-stander's foot land on the top step as she silently closed the door. "He's right outside!" she warned. "Let's go!"

"No hurry." His voice came from a different room.

Clara watched through the window as the watch-stander nodded at each crate in the hold as if checking a mental list. When his nod reached the T.A.R.D.I.S. he nodded at Clara as if he had seen her but was completely expectant of her to be there. Finishing his look-see, he returned the way he came and sealed the hatch behind him.

"But," she turned around looking for where the Doctor had gone, "didn't he see me?"

"Sort of." the Doctor entered the control room with a contraption that looked like spare parts from a junkyard. As he plugged it into a socket on the console, lights throughout the contraption began to blink. "I told you it's the dampening field."

"I don't care if it's a wet farmhouse crop. It still makes no sense."

The Doctor furrowed his brow as he set the info-stamp in the middle of the newly installed apparatus and began connecting wires to its shell. "Wet farmhouse-? Not damp, dampening."

"But what's that mean?"

The Doctor continued to make connections while biting his lip. He stopped to stand back and admire his accomplishment. "Stick your head underwater."

"What?"

"Imagine, you stick you head underwater. Can you hear if there's someone next to you?"

"Well, no," she admitted. "Unless the person is very loud."

"Exactly!" He plucked the mask up the console and began to wire it into his collection of lighted garbage. "That's what a dampening field does. Unless you do something outlandish to get noticed, you get pretty much ignored. The T.A.R.D.I.S. puts out a field that electronically mutes everything in its presence. That's how it remains pretty much undetected to the untrained eye." He paused his installation and looked her over. "Except for you."

"And what does that mean?" she asked.

"First things, first, my dear." The mask began to hum. "But not necessarily in that order," he added with a smile. "Aright, you. What is your designation?"

"Huh? Clara."

"SHH, not you."

A voice emitted from the mask. "You are inferior."

"Eeek!" Clara hid behind the Doctor. "It spoke."

The Doctor furrowed his brow again. "Yes, it spoke, but it did not answer the question." He began to knock on the faceplate with a probe. "That's rude, Chuck. There we are, your name is now Chuck. So, tell me Chuck. What exactly is your directive?"

"You belong to us. You shall be like us."

"Yes, yes, yes. Heard that before. What is your directive now though? What are you planning with the New World?"

"There is no new world. We are the world. You contaminate it. You will be upgraded."

"Well, this is getting us nowhere. Who is Chieftain?"

"I thought you worked for him?" Clara asked peeping from the Doctors shoulder.

"I lied."

The mask remained silent. Clara emerged and exchanged glances the Doctor.

The Doctor rephrased. "Who is the man known as Chieftain?"

"It does not matter. This man will be upgraded."

Clara dove behind the Doctor. "What does he mean 'upgraded'?"

"He means, assimilated. The Cybermen take human beings and put them in robots, ah, armor. Then they remove their minds and tune them into a collective mind. A slave race with no real master. Although they have a hierarchy, they are slaves to the nonstop mission to 'improve' the world by turning every living being into one of them."

"That is phase one," said the mask.

"Yes, phase one. – Wait, phase one? What is phase two?"

"Phase two is to protect the Cybermen."

"Protect the Cybermen?" Clara emerged again. "Protect the Cybermen? Protect them from what? Once you've killed everyone, who is there to be protected from?"

"Ourselves."

The Doctor frowned with thought. "Someone's been thinking ahead," he said to the mask. "Once you convert everyone you have nothing to do but turn on each other, but you've never thought that far ahead before. Something's changed. Where is your Cyberleader?"

"The Cyberleader has not been activated. I am Cyberleader until the Cyberleader's activation."

"You have been activated early. When is the Cyberleader scheduled to be activated?"

"There is no activation schedule."

"There has to be. You're attempting to infiltrate the New World in pieces. Someone has to put the Cyberleader together and activate him."

"There is no activation schedule."

"Ahhh! You worthless tuna can." the Doctor slapped the contraption holding the info stamp and mask. "Stop smiling at me."

"Doctor," said Clara, "I don't understand. These armors are dangerous but only when put together. Who's going to put them together?"

"Chieftain. I'm sure of it. Clara, has anyone ever seen Chieftain?" He adjusted the controls on the T.A.R.D.I.S. and it began whirring to life.

"Of course. Several times."

"What does he look like?"

"He looks like a man."

"Are you sure?"

"Of course, he-"

"Are you sure he doesn't look like this?" the Doctor pointed at the mask.

Clara looked at the mask hanging in the mess of wires. "Not unless he has a 'damp field'."

The Doctor looked from the mask to Clara. "Well, yeah. I mean no. I – Do you know where I can find this Chieftain?"

The T.A.R.D.I.S. klaxon chimed their return to the dock. "He stays at an inn," she replied. "I don't know which one, but it's in the records back at the warehouse."

"Then let's pay him a visit." He headed for the door. She followed, but they returned a moment later.

"What's wrong, Doctor?"

He plucked the mask and infostamp from the contraption on the console.

"Never leave a mask of death connected to your T.A.R.D.I.S." He tucked the mask and infostamp in his coat and turned to exit again.

Clara shrugged looking about them as she followed. "Ok, Doctor."


	5. Blondes and Bears

The Doctor and Clara pushed through the crowd surrounding the large cobblestone yard of the local Elizabethan Inn. The evening's 'inn-yard' entertainment substituted its standard presentation of a play for the modern "sport" of bear-baiting. The magnificent creature was chained to a post in the middle of the ring able to move but not to escape. Dog handlers were taking bets on whether it would be the dogs or the bear that would survive the impending battle.

The Doctor stole glances at it while he plowed through the bloodthirsty crowd. Reaching the stairs, he ducked under and pulled Clara behind him.

"His room is on the other end of the courtyard," she told him over the noisy crowd.

"Yes, yes." He retrieved his fife from the depths of his coat. "Just a moment."

Placing the fife to his lips he began to blow with such force that Clara could swear his face was turning blue. But despite his efforts, she heard no sound. The dogs however, who had just been released and were advancing on the bear, cowered and yelped. Turning tails, they raced from the yard with their handlers cursing and calling to them while giving chase.

"Right," said the Doctor, breathing a bit heavier and stowing his fife once again. "Other end of the courtyard." He set off with a bounce in his step, pausing momentarily to greet a few of the confused crowd members trying to ascertain what exactly had just transpired.

At the distant end, the Doctor found the room he was searching for and knocked politely. "Room Service," he called.

Behind the door a chair was heard as someone arose. Steps across a wooden floor approached.

"Clara, when I say 'run'," he paused to look her in the eye, "run." The door opened briskly.

"What is room service?" asked a male voice.

The Doctor looked left and then right. Seeing no one, he looked slightly down at the small man who had answered the door. He appeared to be Chinese, mid-twenty to thirty years old, with dark eyes demonstrating his ethnic epicanthic fold. He appeared muscular judging from his neck which was all that could be observed while wearing the traditional Ming dynasty attire for Chinese men called a zhiduo. His Fu Manchu mustache and hair styled in a long queue was also indicative of his culture with one distinguishable difference. He was blonde. Not white-haired or grey, which would have perhaps made him appear older than his age, but his hair was vividly bright yellow.

"At the risk of being outrageously stereotypical," the Doctor pressed his fingertips together, "I am going to ask you if Dr. Chieftain is in."

"I am lord Chieftain. How may I be of service?" Despite the Asian influence of his attire, the Doctor noticed he spoke in perfect English.

"Lord Chieftain, we represent the Warg Bidden Cargo Company. We have a few questions, if you don't mind."

Chieftain exhaled through his nostrils with exasperation. "I have answered enough questions. You are being paid to deliver the cargo to the New World. I will accompany the cargo. There is nothing else to be concerned with. Good day to you." He attempted to close the door, but the Doctor placed his palm against it and pressed.

"Yes, lord. That's what is causing an issue. How do you expect to unload it?"

"Slave labor. Thank you." He again tried to close the door.

"Then, lord. You will require slaves, yes?"

"Services from the local savages will be acquired. Easier than your services I think. Thank you for your concern."

"Of course, lord. Then the last concern is about the contagion."

"Contagion?" Chieftain opened the door wide and eyed both the Doctor and Clara suspiciously. "What contagion?"

"An infection of some sort. One of the warehouse workers became sick. His attending physician said that it was some disease common only to a Liqian village." He paused slightly to gauge reaction from lord Chieftain, but continued when it was not immediately forthcoming. "Anyway, the attending physician also said that you may have information for some reason."

Lord Chieftain seemed to consider his comments for a moment. The Doctor stood quietly allowing him time for reflection. With a sudden change of attitude and a sweep of his hand, lord Chieftain stood aside and invited them in.

"Please forgive my impatience. It has been a long week. Come in, please, so we can discuss this. What was your name again?"

"Smith," replied the Doctor, stepping forward to enter. "John Smith."

Lord Chieftain blocked the Doctor's path again. "Excuse me?"

The Doctor shot a confused glanced at Clara who was gently pushing the Doctor aside and flashing lord Chieftain her most winning and friendly smile. "John Smith, but not who you think. He gets that all the time. Just a coincidence, really."

The lord looked over Clara carefully, but stepped out of the way and again extended his arm in welcome. "Ah, of course. Another John Smith. Forgive my confusion."

"Not at all," said the Doctor. "Common name, just a coincidence, really."

"I already said that," whispered Clara as they entered the rented chambers.

Although as drab as to be expected, the quarters were also larger than expected. Lord Chieftain drew up a chair for himself at the table sitting near a roll up desk. The Doctor sat opposite to him, leaving a disgruntled Clara to draw her own chair. "Wouldn't some tea be nice?" asked the Doctor before she could be seated. Chieftain looked slightly humbled as he admitted that he was traveling alone and had no maid.

"I'm sure I can manage," said Clara with an insincere smile directed at the Doctor. "If you don't mind," she added to her host.

"Not at all."

"Splendid!" said the Doctor. "So tell me, when were you last at Liqian village, lord?"

Clara walked to the back of the room to find a doorway to a small kitchenette. She could hear the conversation continue from the next room as she poked about for tea leaves and filled the teapot with water.

"I have never actually been to Liqian although I am familiar with it. It is said that the villagers there are blonde and fair. I have the appearance that would mark me as a descendant, but alas, I am instead a simple son of a great traveler. My father took on a Chinese wife in Macau at an early age. I was born at sea, but my mother died giving birth. England is by birthright my home and by that same birthright I was given lands and a title, but because of my mother's origin, I have never really been welcome. As a result, I have traveled to China and submersed myself in the Asian culture. But alas, as I am branded by my father, I am also an outsider there. Soon, I hope to be part of a new world. Welcomed in the new world. But now once again, I find my mother's influence is causing a disturbance."

"I did not mean to pry, lord Chieftain, it's just that –"

"Of course you mean to pry. You think me responsible for this mishap. You guise it under the excuse of concern, but diseases cannot be traced from country to country. Liqian is not a seaport city. No one infected a transport from Liqian. This accusation took planning and effort and is simply inflammatory."

The Doctor placed his hands carefully palm up on the table in an expression of honesty. "My only concern is about those traveling—"

"The travelers to the new world order will be protected. There are three surgeons onboard. One on each vessel. Everyone will be properly taken care of."

Clara, having placed the kettle in the fire to heat and finished prepping the tealeaves, returned to the doorway to watch the conversation.

The Doctor glanced quickly at her from his seat and rolled his palms to face downward. "Properly taken care of."

"Yes, properly taken care of."

The Doctor rose from his chair. "So you are saying that those traveling on the Godspeed will be properly taken care of during their trip to the new world order."

Lord Chieftain placed his palms on the table and pushed his chair back. "I didn't say I was traveling on the Godspeed."

"Lucky guess. But, you plan to take care of them on the way to the—" he paused to make quotation marks in the air with his fingers, "…New – World – ORDER!" the Doctor slammed his fists into the desk. "Who's giving the order?" he shouted.

Chieftain jumped from his chair. "Who are you?"

"You first, Chieftain. Who's in command?"

Lord Chieftain raised his finger to threaten the Doctor. "John Smith, you know a lot for a warehouse worker."

"Answer the question!" the Doctor yelled. Banging his fist into the table repeatedly. "Who is the Cyberleader?!"

Lord Chieftain stood erect and folded his arms. His hands disappeared inside the sleeves of his green zhiduo as a smile appeared across his face. "I am."


	6. Revelations

Chieftain hadn't moved, but the Doctor was pacing with one hand on his hip and the other scratching his head.

"You, sir, are a liar. Dying mother, man without a country. Those are nice details. Pulls at the heartstrings and all that, but Liqian my dear sir—"

"Hasn't been discovered yet, I know. That was a mistake on my part. You handed me the story on a platter and I picked it up."

"Yes." The Doctor stopped scratching and pointed at Chieftain. "The first rule of conversing with a Time Lord is to keep your time lines strait."

"A Time Lord." Under the Doctor's watchful eye, Chieftain slowly withdrew his hands from his zhiduo and pressed his fingers together thoughtfully. "How quaint."

The Doctor stopped pacing and mimicked Chieftains thoughtful stance, fingertips together. "And the Cyber Leader, in the flesh is it? Not your regular modus operandi. Which leads me to repeat myself, and I do hate doing so, but you, sir are a liar. You're not a Cyberman and you're definitely not the Cyberleader."

Chieftain threw back his head in laughter. "And there you are quite mistaken, Doctor, because I AM the Cyberleader and as far as the Cybermen are concerned, I AM a Cyberman."

"You're Cyber-insane!" The Doctor's composure was gone as he began to pace about again. "The Cybermen scan you and install improvements. If you think they scanned you and then made you their leader, then they are simply using you." The Doctor stopped pacing and resumed the head scratching. "This is not really their M.O. either," he said, more to himself than his host. "Where are the assembled Cybermen, Chieftain?"

"There are none assembled," Chieftain replied calmly. "And you are confused because you have things reversed. The Cybermen didn't scan me, and they are not using me. I am using them, Doctor. It's called a hack."

"A what?"

"Don't play dumb now, Doctor. I hacked them. They scan me now and they see me as their leader."

The Doctor pulled up the nearby chair and sat down again. "But that makes no sense. If you did hack them and if you did reprogram them to recognize you as their leader, their initial operating program is still driven to find their definition of perfection. For them to recognize you as their Cyberleader, they would have to find you to be more than their definition of "perfect". And then if they found you to be "perfect" they would tear themselves apart to be like you."

The Doctor looked into Chieftain's eyes. He could see Clara peripherally, but made a point to ignore her presence. "That leaves only one question, Chieftain. What the hell are you?"

Chieftain grinned showing pearly rows of teeth. His eyes widened with excitement as he plunged his hands again into his zhiduo sleeves.

"Isn't it obvious?" he asked through gnashed teeth. "I'm one hell of a hacker!"

"Now!" yelled the Doctor.

Chieftain withdrew his hand revealing a sword handle in one and what appeared to be a pommel in the other. Connecting the two, he turned to locate Clara behind him as the handle and pommel generated a violet glowing sword in his hands.

Despite her astonishment at the sudden appearance of the sword, Clara had the presence of mind to continue her attack. The tea kettle missed Chieftain, but struck the table as its boiling contents splashed over his back and left side. With a howl of pain he thrashed about, still gripping the sword with his right hand. It sliced neatly through the upper corner of the desk cutting a large piece off like a rapier through warm cheese. The corner slid to the floor smoking and smelling of sulfur.

"Run!" yelled the Doctor. He ran to the door and flung it open. As he jumped about and waved his arm, Clara could not help but to relate his appearance to an excited primate demanding a banana.

Together they rushed from the building and ran across the courtyard. The Doctor fumbled with his coat pocket as he ran. "Where is it?" he fumed.

Clara looked over her shoulder to see Chieftain pushing angrily through the doorway, his glowing sword still in hand. Attempting to run faster, she slammed into something in a large fur coat.

"He's coming Doc-" She suddenly became aware of the gasps from all around her. A wave of fear, nausea, and dizziness nearly knocked her over as the bear she had run into stood on its hind legs and growled. She stamped at the ground looking for solid firmament only to find that the courtyard appeared to have turned into some type of mallow beneath her. She continued to fight the compulsion to faint, being unable to resign to the quick and certain death just a moment away.

"Ah-ha!" the Doctor cried, still digging in his pockets. He wrapped his fingers round the carcanecular.

Fighting unconsciousness, Clara focused her attention on the Doctor and tried to pretend the bear had not just dropped to all fours and sniffed her before growling again. She watched as the Doctor pulled a two foot long black metal pole from his pocket-'How big are his pockets?'- and struck it against the bear's restraint. With a 'POP' and some smoke, the metal pole disappeared from the Doctor's grasp. So had a two foot section of the bear's chain between his collar and the center yard pole. The startled bear ignored Clara and turned his attention to the Doctor.

The bystanders, who were still waiting to see if any dogs would return to the forum, began screaming and running about the courtyard.

The Doctor raised his arms in the air and almost appeared to be conversing with the bear. "Grrr-Grrrrrrrr-Grrrrr-umf Mumph, Grrr-Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr."

"Doctor!" Clara yelled. From the corner of her eye she could see the green of Chieftain's zhiduo and the violet glow from his futuristic weapon as he approached.

Then Chieftain was on top of them, swinging his sword with rage. He leapt in the air, poised to strike at Clara. She closed her eyes as the sword moved towards her face. She felt the breeze of the blade striking the air so close. She figured the blow must have been so quick that the pain had not yet set in. Another option was that she had died and the pain had not followed her into the afterlife.

"Gaaah! Blast!"

The sound of Chieftain cursing brought Clara the courage to open her eyes. She touched her face, certain that it would slide to the ground smoking and smelling of sulfur. Clara could hardly believe scene in front of her. The bear held Chieftain by an ankle as if displaying a prized catch from the Thames. The Doctor was continuing to converse politely with the bear.

"Grrrrrrrr-Grrrrr-umf Mumph, Grrr-Grrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr." The Doctor's growls were not impressive.

"GrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrMRRRrrrrAhhhhhrrr," the bear appeared to reply.

"Thank you," the Doctor said with a tip of his imaginary hat. He reached down and removed the pommel from the sword which was lying on the ground. The connected glowing sword disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. "Let's go Clara."

"Wait," she called after the retreating Doctor. "What about lord Chieftain?"

The Doctor spun about. "He believes he has the upper hand." He raised his hand to his mouth for privacy. "Since I don't know what he's up to, he may be right." He lowered his hand again. "Bruce here will let him go in ten minutes by which time we will be hopefully on his trail. Get it? A trail. Because one thing all hackers leave behind is …?"

Clara looked at the bear and back to the Doctor. After seeing amazing things and having two life-threatening experiences wrapped into one, her exciting day had just reached her limits. "Bodies and blood." She turned her back on the bear and its trophy.

"I- uh- I beg your pardon."

She took a deep breath and walked in the direction of the courtyard exit. "Your riddle," she replied. "One thing all hackers leave behind. The sword disappeared and in this instance he did not hack anyone, but were he successful, the hacker would most likely take his weapon and leave behind bodies and blood."

The Doctor stared at Clara, thoroughly confused. "You understand the words 'hack' and 'hackers' in this century, but take it to mean 'butcher'. The T.A.R.D.I.S. translator must be wonky. Maybe—"

They continued away from the inn at a brisk pace.

"Maybe what? Translator what? Doctor, I do think I have had quite enough excitement for one day."

The Doctor tossed the sword handle in a fire surrounded by dockworkers who had gathered to warn their hands. The fire turned green and flared up slightly as they passed. Looking back, he watched the flames return to their normal yellow color again as the dockworkers backed away and stared after them.

"You've shown me some amazing and unbelievable things," she continued. "You tell me of death masks, armors, and damp fields which blind people to what they are looking at. You show me a magical traveling box, a trained bear, and a murderous lord with swords of fire. But, I believe I have seen enough." She stopped and watched the Doctor continue, murmuring to himself and scratching his head. "I am ready to wake up now."

The Doctor continued walking away, nervously scratching his head.

"Did you hear me Doctor? I said, I'm ready to wake up now."

The Doctor, continuing his stride, circled about still scratching and muttering. Returning to her side, he indicated a sign on a nearby barn. "What does that say?"

"What? The Livery sign?"

"Yes, Clara. Read the sign."

"It says 'Livery'," she replied.

'No, no, no. Don't look at me. Look at the sign. Read it."

She looked at the weather stained wooden sign nailed above the barn doors. It was ordinary. It did not indicate the proprietor. It was just an ordinary sign. "Livery," she said again.

"Look at each letter. Read it letter by letter."

She focused on each red painted raised letter on the sign. "L-I-V-E-R-Y."

"Are they capitalized?"

"Yes they are."

The Doctor sighed. "Clara you're not dreaming. Unfortunately, neither am I. I can read it too."

"What does that have to do with-"

"You can't read in dreams. I can, but everything's in Gallifreyan and the Gallifreyan word for 'livery' has two letters not six."

He linked arms with her resumed his brisk pace. "You're not dreaming me and I'm not dreaming you. It would have made things easier though. I don't like not having all the answers."

"Are you sure I cannot read while dreaming?" she asked, trying to match his pace without being dragged along.

"Of course. It's scientifically impossible. You see, your brain is split into different sections. The part that dreams comes from your sub—"

"My brain is butchered?"

The Doctor laughed. "Not that kind of split. But the T.A.R.D.I.S. did hack your brain to—"

He stopped so short, Clara almost pulled him over as she continued. "What's wrong Doctor?" she asked rubbing her shoulder.

"Oh, my giddy Aunt! Clara, that's it! That's the answer!"

"What's the –"

But the Doctor had already begun running. "No time Clara. Come on!"


	7. Lost in Translation

"The first rule of translation is not to translate a word but to translate the idea of a sentence."

"OK." Clara plopped on a chair and began removing her shoes.

"No, not just 'ok'. Imagine trying to explain to someone that a friend drowned in the desert, but the translator kept saying he drowned in his dessert."

"Well I would imagine that there was a flood in the desert because who has an after-dinner dessert that big?"

The Doctor opened a panel on his console and a screen began to rise from it. "Gacklorks, but that's not the point, Clara." He began to make adjustments to his console, stretching to reach a knob just out of reach. "A translator must be able to choose the right words to translate an idea. Through thorough examination of a piece of conversation the T.A.R.D.I.S. translates the idea of what I am telling you into English."

"What, right now?"

The Doctor turned to her. "I've been speaking Klingon for about two minutes."

Clara smiled as she watched his mouth form harsh syllables that did not come close to matching the words she was hearing. Nothing was surprising her anymore.

"And that's a feat for the T.A.R.D.I.S., let me tell you. Especially when some words don't exist in Klingon. For example there's no word for love." He walked around the console and adjusted the knob he had reached for earlier.

"Then how did I just hear you say it?"

"Because I used the Norwegian word for 'love' and the T.A.R.D.I.S. translated the idea of the conversation instead of the actual words spoken.

"OK Doctor, you and your portable laboratory are brilliant. But what does that have to do with butchering?"

The Doctor held up his hand for silence. "Ahhh wish you had not asked that yet. Shut your mouth, bitch."

"I beg your pardon!"

The Doctor stood silent for a moment.

"Sometimes a Klingon word slips through with the translated idea. What I meant to say was 'Please be silent for a moment'."

Clara, started breathing again. She was outrageously upset, but the Doctor's sincerely concerned face calmed her. She leaned back in the chair to stretch her legs. "Ahhh!" she yelled, leaping up.

The Doctor poked his head out from the other side of the console.

"What happened?"

Clara pointed to the chair. "It moved."

"It's adjustable," he replied with a sigh. "Sit down and make yourself comfortable. It will take on any position you like."

He returned behind the console and left Clara to experiment with the chair.

She pushed it and it remained firmly secured to the floor, but once she had built up the courage again, she sat down and the chair leaned back to accommodate her. She rolled left. The chair wrapped about her like a cocoon. Alarmed, she tried to straighten, but the chair smoothly straitened with her, allowing her to recline on her back.

Having built a temporal and xernona scanning device, the Doctor approached Clara. "I said get comfortable, not play with it."

Clara sat up in the chair although she could almost swear the chair simply knew what she wanted and brought itself to an upright position.

"Hold these on your temples please." He handed her the cylindrical devices connected to the console by wires. He noted the skepticism in her eyes as she took them. "It won't hurt a bit."

She obliged and he threw a switch on the console. The device emitted a hum until the Doctor filtered it out with the manipulation of a few dials.

"Now, Clara, ask me again about the butchering." He watched the newly deployed screen on the console as she replied.

"Why did you say my brain was butchered?" she asked.

"I said your brain was split, Clara."

"Yes, butchered."

"Hmmm I thought so. I'm reading an interference here. Clara, what happens when you say 'dampening field'?"

"Damp field." Clara smiled.

The Doctor scowled, but did not take his eyes off the screen. "You naughty girl, Clara. You understood 'dampening field'. You were simply pulling my leg."

"Why would I want to replace your leg, Doctor?"

The Doctor hit the switch and turned to face her. "There it is again. Clara, your mind has been ha … altered."

"Sacrificed?"

"Amazing." He took the scanners from Clara and tossed them into the spare room.

"Clara, you have two translators. One—" he held his index fingers to the air in demonstration, "-the most sophisticated portable laboratory in the universe. And two-" he began scratching his head, "-something with enough power to interfere."

Clara was not completely sure what that meant, but it was obvious that is was not good news.

"Chieftain," he continued, "plans to raise an army before he reaches the New World by assembling the Cybermen and attacking the crew. After taking over the Godspeed, it should be no problem taking over the other two ships one at a time. It's interesting that he only is bringing enough Cybermen for the founders. I'm guessing he didn't plan that far ahead. Shows that he thinks like a Cyberman. Make a plan, execute the plan.

"Once he reaches the Americas, he will have plenty of resources to continue to build more Cybermen and enlarge his Army. Defending against sticks and stones, he will have the entire continent taken over in no time. By the time England knows something is wrong, and comes to investigate, they will be dug in. New arrivals will be lambs to the slaughter."

He turned to look at Clara who was listening quietly. "But how does a man like Chieftain become immune to this carnage?"

"Though butchering and translation?"

"Exactly Clara, through hacking and translation. You were able to see through the dampening fields. You interacted with me and with the T.A.R.D.I.S. When you did so, the T.A.R.D.I.S. began to translate for you and that allowed the interference."

Clara's eyes opened wide. "Doctor, I've been hacked!"

The Doctor grinned. "Oh, Clever girl!" he praised her. "But no. It's hacked the T.A.R.D.I.S. signal."

"Doctor, how can I understand you better now? How do I know what 'hacked' means?"

"Because, my dear, your brain is amazing. It's figured out what is desired and what is not and is filtering the signal itself. Oh Clara, with a brain that can do that, you should be a teacher someday. Listening to all that clutter at once and deciphering what is worthwhile. You'd be a natural."

"But teaching is for—" Seeing the Doctor's glare, she thought about it and changed her response. "That would be difficult, but I guess I should consider something like that."

The Doctor smiled. "However, this proves that your human brain can figure out how to naturally filter out the interfering signal. The Cyberman wouldn't be able to do this because they are programmed. It takes a mind and independent thought; a soul to decipher and filter the difference.

"So Chieftain is using the signal to mistranslate the Cybermens' execution instruction for their mission. Without a Cyberleader, they are simply acting on their core mission instructions, but those instructions are being mistranslated in some way by Chieftain. And whatever that mistranslation is, he believes it will keep him immune from attack."

The Doctor placed his hands on either side of the console and leaned into it. "I wonder how you acquire disassembled Cybermen to begin with. Do they come wholesale? Cybers R Us? Eh?" He turned to face a confused Clara. "Oh – eh Never mind."

"So what do we do now, Doctor?"

"Now we go after Chieftain."

Clara begrudgingly reached for her shoes, but the Doctor snatched them up. "What are these?"

"My shoes?"

"These are not shoes," he said, running his finder around the heel and playing with the laces. "These are death traps."

He opened a small door in the wall and tossed the shoes inside. After a moment of thought, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the pommel, inspecting it briefly before tossing it inside as well and closing the door.

"So I shall run about London in my stocking feet, shall I?"

"Microwave converter oven," the Doctor replied while pushing buttons near the door. They sounded with a 'beep' with every press. "It's crude, but effective in an emergency."

He smiled as an invisible bell tolled from somewhere behind the wall. "Ready!" he announced.

He retrieved the shoes, but they had changed. Clara inspected them. The heel was gone and although the laces remained, they had no evident ends to tie.

"Well, try them on." the Doctor demanded.

With a great deal of doubt she attempted to put them on. 'I've seen weirder things today after all,' she thought.

The shoes slipped on with hardly any effort. As she stood, the soles of her feet felt as if the cushioning below them were providing a hug. "Oh Doctor… Oh my!"

"That's enough of that talk, young lady. You'll get an old man excited. Let's go!"

He started changing the settings on the console. "I'm glad you like them, but you really won't need them for the moment."

"Oh we're moving the portable – I mean T.A.R.D.I.S.," Clara observed.

"Yes, just a quick trip. There we are. Let's have a look-see." He checked his monitor while adjusting the view. "Ahh – There you are. You don't belong here do you?"

"What is it, Doctor?"

He switched off the screen and marched towards the door. "I'll show you."

He opened the door. "That, dear Clara does not belong here."

The Doctor heard a noise behind him and turning he saw Clara, laying on her side on the floor. Her hair was splayed about her face which was laid sweetly and peacefully on her arm. Were he not so sure she had fainted, he would have thought she had simply decided to take an ill-timed nap.

"I'm sorry, Clara." He said to her. He wondered if it was the suddenness of being in orbit 22 thousand miles above the earth that had overtaken her, or the large communications satellite floating between the earth and the T.A.R.D.I.S.


	8. Mazrix

"Drink."

Clara opened her eyes to a cup being forced upon her. She had recovered enough to climb into the chair, but was still woozy.

"What is it?" She took the glass and tipped its contents into her mouth.

"A gift from the Namposinons. Contains amazing healing properties. In Terrans like yourself, it has been known to actually lengthen your lifespan."

"It tastes like water." She returned the empty cup which was quickly refilled and placed back in her hand.

"It is." He clapped his hands together. "Now, back to work."

"Doctor, what was that thing? That metal monstrosity just outside."

"That, my dear Clara," he pointed dramatically at the T.A.R.D.I.S. doors, "is a communications satellite being used by Chieftain to mistranslate and reprogram the Cybermen. It's harmless to us here, so there's no reason to be alarmed."

He stood back to wave his hands over an assortment of prisms that he had strategically staged between the console and the doors. "And this is a focusing network for a beam of consolidated energy called a laser."

Clara stared at him unimpressed, but rose to get a better view of the prisms.

"Never mind." He walked to the doors and opened them, revealing that he had parked very close to the satellite floating inches away.

Clara found herself seeking the chair again as she sipped her water.

"It's ok, Clara. Watch this." He flipped a switch on the console.

Clara looked at the console, the prisms, the satellite, and back to the frowning Doctor. She watched as with a sigh, he flipped the switch twice more before giving the panel below a swift kick. A turquoise beam shot from the console and danced between the prims before joining to strike the satellite. With a look of self-satisfaction, the Doctor switched off the beam, but the satellite remained in its place.

"So..."

The Doctor produced a broom and thrust it through the open doors. As it swished around, the satellite crumbled into a cloud of dust floating just outside the doors.

Clara smiled open mouthed as the Doctor stood proudly brandishing his broom.

"Now," the broom flew across the room. "Back to work."

He closed the doors and threw a lever on the console. As the T.A.R.D.I.S. began to whir, Clara finished her water and handed the glass to the Doctor. He tossed it with one hand while twisting a dial with another. The whirring slowed and the Doctor threw open the doors again.

Clara saw they had returned to the docks, but as she moved towards the door noticed something odd. "Doctor, where did the prisms go?"

The Doctor paused momentarily to shoot her an indignant look. "I put them away, of course."

He exited and she followed, shaking her head. It was evening outside and the bright moon lighted their way as they began to run.

"Where to, Doctor?" Clara was grateful for the new running shoes.

"I need to retrieve something. Turn right at the livery."

He slowed to a stop in front of the fire pit where he had earlier disposed of the sword handle. He produced a mason jar from his pocket and scooped a black gelatinous goo from its ashes.

"Doctor?"

"Not now Clara." He carried the jar back to the livery stable and ducked behind the building. "Hold this."

Clara took the jar and as the Doctor fumbled with his pockets she inspected its contents. The goo appeared to move of its own accord and she pulled it quickly away from her face.

"Careful." The Doctor laid the Cybermask on the ground and took the jar from her. "Unstable stuff this is."

"What is it?" She watched as he poured the goo from the jar onto the mask.

"It's mazrix. A special type of metal proven to be very useful in some worlds as long as it stays away from heat. But the Ood realized that after being heated it could be used as a very special type of solvent."

"Solvent?"

"Hmmm, yes. But this solvent samples what you want to dissolve and then seeks out more of it to dissolve. See?"

Within seconds the ooze had consumed the mask.

"Amazing isn't it? Unless it's stopped, it will continue to consume everything that is made from that particular type of metal. Also, it will consume it at a faster and faster rate."

Clara took the jar from the Doctor. "So now we have to get this to the Godspeed and the other ships bound for the New World."

But the ooze suddenly moved by itself and slithered away.

"Nope," the Doctor took the jar back and put it in his pocket. "It will find its own way."

They began to follow the goo as it trekked its way towards the docks like a snake in the dark.

"The problem with mazrix, as the Ood quickly determined, is that once it has consumed everything on the planet it is programed to consume, it starts looking for the next most likely comparable thing. It will continue unless stopped."

"I take it you know how to stop it after it destroys all the Cybermen?"

"I do." The Doctor revealed a small black box decorated with lightning bolts and inscribed with the word "Taser."

Clara watched him pocket the box again and shrugged while picking up the pace to follow the mazrix.

"So what is the next most likely comparable thing to Cybermen Doctor?"

The Doctor picked up his pace to follow a little more closely. "My T.A.R.D.I.S.."

The Doctor and Clara followed the mazrix from ship to ship. They patiently waited outside each until the goo had sanitized each platform leaving only empty crates where the Cybermen parts had once been stored onboard.

"I guess this destruction will negatively impact the Warg Bidden Cargo Company, eh?" the Doctor asked while waiting outside the third ship.

"Not really. Chieftain paid for most of his transaction up front and if we topple his plans tonight, I am hoping that he will not come looking for a refund in the morning."

"I hope he does."

Clara looked for some sign of humor from the Doctor but saw none.

"I know where the Cybermen are stored. I have no idea where he is."

"Doctor." Clara pointed as the goo climbed from the ocean onto the shore and headed towards the warehouses. "It's heading to the Warg Bidden."

They followed it and the Doctor retrieved his black box from his coat pocket. "It emits an electrical charge. It should be enough to stop the mazrixs' feeding frenzy."

"Ohh electricity! I like that."

"Translator is working well now is it? Clara, I have a question for you."

"Hmm?"

"Clara, I have some companions who usually travel with me. Jamie and Zoe are on vacation right now. I wonder if you might like to meet them."

"Oh I am sure I would, Doctor. Where are they?"

"Well, they are, um, hmm, probably should have written that down. Anyway, I am sure they would enjoy meeting you. I think Zoe would love to make a female friend and Jamie… Do you have an aversion to men in kilts?"

"A Scotsman?" She smiled. "No, as long as he's charming, I'm sure we would get along."

"Hmmm I might have to have a word with him. However… What was that?"

A strange crackling sound greeted them as they approached the Warg Bidden. Clara and the Doctor burst through the door.

"About time, Doctor."

He stood below in the stowage area holding a staff on top of which danced a violet glowing flame that resembled the glow of the sword he'd held earlier. A lantern had been lit overhead and the remains of the mazrix goo could be seen smoldering at his feet. .

"Chieftain."

"You have made a mess of things, Doctor. I planned to retire here and settle down with my kingdom of Cybermen, but you have set my elaborate scheme back to the start."

The Doctor entered the storage area courageously. "Chieftain, I have had enough of you and your…"

"Stop right there, Doctor." He lowered his staff towards the Doctor and electricity sparked and arched from the purple-ish fire. "Unless, you like your companions extra crispy." He added, aiming the staff to the right where Clara had tried to skirt the both of them.

"Don't hurt her!" The Doctor ordered. "She's innocent in all of this."

Chieftain raised one of his arm and the sleeve of his zhiduo fell back to reveal the boiling tea inflicted burns he had received that afternoon. "I think not innocent, Doctor. I think not innocent at all." Although he was watching the Doctor, Chieftain still saw the flicker of motion as Clara snatched the pry bar and attacked. "In fact—" He gripped the staff with two hands and lightening shot from the flame to connect with the bar Clara held.

The Doctor screamed a belated warning, "No, Clara!" He watched her body convulse as she turned to look at him with confusion. Then the pole shot through the air in one direction as Clara shot through the air in another.

As Chieftain watched Clara's body fly through the air with amusement, the Doctor attacked. He tackled Chieftain and heard the 'thwack' as his head cracked on a nearby crate. As Chieftain fell unconscious to the dirt warehouse floor, the staff flew from his hands and the flame extinguished.

The Doctor raced to Clara. He touched her carotid artery and felt the skin crack as he pressed. She was smoldering and red, and her face still held the same confused look she cast before she flew through the air. Her pulse was non-existent.

The Doctor closed her eyes and rose with silent reverence. "I'm sorry, my dear. This is not the way—"

He turned away and set his gaze on the body of Chieftain. "This was a waste." He strode over to him. "A waste! One moment of anger and you destroy a precious thing, you evil, evil being." He shook a finger in anger as his voice choked up and his eyes welled. "She was amazing, and brilliant, and clever! And now…"

"You'll get over her," Chieftain replied. His eyes flicked open and he stirred weakly, "If not in this lifetime, in the next."

The Doctor slowly knelt down. "No, no I think not." He began fishing in his pockets for some way to secure his captor. "No, Chieftain I don't think you understand." He spoke slowly, softly and deliberately. "You've destroyed something precious. You have done so not only without remorse but with pleasure, and by doing so on my watch, you have made me an accomplice… This deserves my wrath. And the wrath of a Time Lord is not a laughing matter. I stumbled into your life on this day and you made yourself out to be a pompous ass."

He found a yoyo in a pocket and used it to begin tying Chieftains hands behind him. "Granted, that's not a difficult stretch from someone planning to take over the world. But you, dear Chieftain deserve my special attention. You—"

He saw a shadow flash through the dimly lit warehouse and the realization as to why came to him as swiftly as the blow to the back of his head. 'Accomplice,' he thought. Then everything went dark.

The wailing of a grown man brought the Doctor to. He peered about to find that he had been hoisted into the rafters. Gingerly touching the bump which had grown behind his head, he looked below to see that the sixth row had been emptied. Clara's body had not been moved, but the Doctor could see that her shoes had been removed. As he looked about, he realized that the missing red sneakers had been laced together and were hanging in the rafters with him. He slowly reached out to retrieve them and hung them about his neck.

Fester stood below next to Clara while comforting another man whom he resembled. The man was crouched over Clara and sobbing.

'Clara's father,' he thought.

"Who was this… Doctor?" the man asked between sobs.

"I don't know, Thomas," Fester replied. "Can't find him or th' cargo, or Chieftain. The boats sailed for the New World this morin' without 'em."

"Damn the boats. Find me that Doctor!"

The Doctor silently and hastily moved to a window and slipped outside. The concentration of the climb helped him hold back his own sob as he crawled down the drain.

An hour later, the Doctor was running scans from the T.A.R.D.I.S. He found some residual energy from some time jumps. Crude as they were, he estimated that they were caused by a vortex manipulator. Unfortunately, there was no way to trace its destination. The chase was over for the moment. Chieftain, the remaining cargo, and his unidentified accomplice had surely vanished.

With a heavy heart, the Doctor set his controls for Aruba. He was looking very forward to seeing Zoe and Jamie again.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Epilogue
> 
> Monty had noticed immediately when Chieftain had changed.
> 
> Chieftain had rescued him from the ridiculed life of the sea. The crew had discovered his preference for male companionship and passed the story across the London shore. The only work he could get was an occasional late-night watchman shift.
> 
> But then the unusual blond Asian man had arrived.
> 
> Monty had seared a year as his valet before Chieftain had shared a bottle of wine with him one evening. At the end of the bottle, they had both reached the end of their tether and found a wonderful night of passion. This continued for two years, but this Chieftain was reserved, proper, and paranoid. Monty was unsure if Chieftain was more embarrassed to be sleeping with a man or someone under his position. The relationship was going stale.
> 
> Then Chieftain suddenly changed. This Chieftain had veracity, and ambition, and emotion. When you love someone and they are suddenly possessed, you notice, so Monty knew this was not the man he loved. Yet, he was very attracted to this new Chieftain as well. When confronted, Chieftain readily admitted that he had changed. He admitted that he was possessed and that the Chieftain that Monty had known was now dead. Monty believed it was for the better. This new man was more vindictive, possessive, passionate, and Monty had not been this happy in years.
> 
> Then this 'Doctor' had arrived…
> 
> "The cargo status, Monty?"  
> _______________  
> Monty pulled himself from memory lane with a start and smiled at Chieftain while taking a wineglass from the cupboard.  
>   
> "The cargo has been moved. It is on its way to Cardiff in the year 2014."
> 
> "Good. I have to be sure be there to receive them when they arrive."
> 
> Monty poured the wine and brought it to Chieftain. "And the ships have sailed."
> 
> "Stop pouting." Chieftain took the wine glass and polished it off. "Your plan for revenge was just a waste anyway."
> 
> Monty picked up the washcloth and began to dab at Chieftains wounded head. "I know, but I am just confused, Master."
> 
> Chieftain thought of how had promised revenge on the crewmembers who had discovered Monty's sexual preference. How Monty had worked tirelessly to ensure that key members of this group were signed on for this New World voyage. Chieftain told his valet they would never make it to the New World. He promised that they would die horribly. Monty had proven to be a faithful servant and lover. He deserved to be compensated.
> 
> "It was so strange pretending not to notice the blue box on the Godspeed. I looked right into the girls eyes, but ignored their presence as instructed. I just do not understand why you let them live." He rinsed the cloth in the nearby bowl and dabbed at Chieftain's temple some more. "You killed the girl after he destroyed most of the cargo. Then we leave him with her shoes in the rafters of the Warg Bidden? Why did we not finish him off, Master?"
> 
> Chieftain turned towards his mate. He watched Monty's reaction to the Wheelock puffer pistol now aimed at his chest. Chieftain briefly remembered all those meals Monty had fixed, the nights Monty had held him close, and all the irreprehensible things Monty had let Chieftain do to his body in the last year.
> 
> With a smile, Chieftain felt the same thing as he had during each and every one of those past shared moments. Even as he pulled the trigger and Monty's heart exploded, Chieftain still felt nothing. He felt no anger or remorse or anything in between. He watched the life force leavening Monty's face.
> 
> "You've been a good and faithful plaything," he said to the dying man. Then he bent over to whisper in his ear. "But I told you it's a secret. And don't call me 'Master'."


End file.
